In a Storm
by FireSprite
Summary: Harry Potter has been missing for 10 years now. Yet his friends still mourn his death. Yet his wife still wears his ring. Yet... He's alive. Very much so. So why does he bear the Dark Mark? He is owned now. So why is he back? R/R
1. The Past Comes Back To Haunt You

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In a Storm

By: FireSprite

A/N: Hello, everyone!!! Yes, long time no write, so you think!! Actually I have been working on a wonderful fic for the past-- what? Two months? I actually started it before Don't-03 (yes, that is posted, don't know if you know that, I don't think AuthorAlert was working) But I'm stuck in that so I though- what the hey! I'll write a small fic, and voilà!! This came out of my mind in less than two hours, which might explain why it's so short! Enjoy!! (Oh and the title has two meanings, see if you can guess what they are)

Disclaimer: Don't own them, wish I did, but I don't.

In a Storm- The Past Comes Back To Haunt You

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"Begin low, speak slow; take fire, rise higher; when most impressed be self-possessed; at the end was warm, and sit down in a storm."

- **Anonymous**

Ginny Weasley sighed and dropped her keys on the table in the front hall of her loft. She was soaking wet, the rain outside coming down in torrents, never ending. The storm crackled once, twice, sending her darkened apartment into an eerie blue glow. She shivered, not entirely from the wetness hanging off her cloak and robes. Hanging up her cloak, she walked into her bedroom, rubbing at her neck, which was very sore at the moment. 

She was always sore and tired when she got home. Her job wasn't the best in the world. Working as an assistant for the editor of a fashion magazine, Ginny felt as though she was under paid and under appreciated. She would have quit long ago, but she knew that in time, she would rise the career ladder and eventually become editor herself. It would take patience, she knew, and lots of hard work. 

Well worth it,' she muttered to herself. She knew she was creative, she knew she had a flair for textures and color. But no one else knew, and that's who she needed to prove it to. Everyone else in the world. Never mind, they'll see soon enough,' she muttered to herself again.

She crossed the room and was about to close the drapes, when she stilled. _Something's not right here_ she thought to herself _It's too eerie, too quiet._ Ginny stayed as she was, not moving, hardly breathing, listening for any noise or movement. Slowly, she crept towards her dresser, where she kept her wand. Sliding open the door slowly, she reached in to grab it. And felt it gone. 

What the?' she whispered. Ginny felt around the whole drawer with her hand. Empty. Nothing. It had disappeared. 

That's when she heard it, the slight squeak of a wet shoe against wood. Spinning around, she scanned the room. Darkness.

Hello?' she called, anyone there?' Silence. The muted room just stood still, as if it too had stopped breathing. Not even the storm was howling now, it too had gone deathly quiet. Nothing. Silence. Then, once again, it regained it's strength and continued it's path of destruction. 

__

Of course no one's there, you idiot!! Ginny berated herself. _Stop scaring yourself and go get some hot soup into you!_

Squaring her shoulders, Ginny walked across the room, pointedly ignoring the sensation creeping over her that she was being watched. 

Entering the kitchen, she went over to the pantry. Opening in, she grabbed at the nearest can of soup and slammed it shut, determined to make some noise in this all too quiet loft. Slamming the can down on the counter she pulled at one of the drawers with extra force, making the forks, knives and everything else rattle and shake inside. She quickly yanked out the can opener and open the soup. As she poured out the soup into a bowl, she looked outside. 

Blackness was everywhere, seeping in the tiny cracks of white and yellow the occasional lighting made. He covered everything, dousing houses with his canvass, making it his masterpiece of death. 

Sparks of light rumbled in the distance, making the panes of the windows shudder and groan. The sound was deafening, filling Ginny's ears. The sound of the drum player playing on his drum as he marched closer, closer, closer-

Hello Virginia,' came a sudden voice in her ear. Ginny shrieked and spun around. Miss me?' the voice taunted. Ginny recognized that voice but where where was it from? She strained to catch the last of his echoing as it bounced off her black walls. 

Harry,' she said, looking over at him for the first time. Oh my god, Harry.'

Correct in one _Mrs. _Potter,' Harry replied, accentuating the Mrs. as if he disapproved of it. Ginny could only stare. What was he doing here?

Everyone thinks you're dead, Harry. Even Ron and Hermione have given up the search for you,' Ginny said, all too quiet. She didn't want to think of the day she had found out he had been kidnapped by Lord Voldemort.

The story of survivors who had witnessed it had been horrible. Half of them were out of their minds, but the other half recounted tales of destruction, pain, suffering, blood shed.

Many people thought _they_ were the insane ones, they didn't want to hear that this was possibly how their loved ones spent their last night on earth. 

Ginny shuddered again and shot a glance over at Harry. He looked different, his eyes, hard and bitter. They contained none of the softness or generosity Ginny remembered. His mouth, it looked as if was stuck in a perfect frown, a paradox. His skin was an ashen color, the color you find in a black and white movie, except that this was real life, there was no black and white. And his sleek black hair, it was now dusty and old looking.

Have you forgotten me too, Virginia?' Harry asked, breaking the horrible silence with his hate-filled voice. Just like everyone else?'

No!' Ginny burst out, Harry, I died the day you disappeared. I cried myself to sleep for years, imagining never seeing you face, never touching you lips, never being held by you again. But I never-- never forgot you, Harry Potter'

Then Ginny saw it, her wand, it was grasped in his hand. He was holding onto it rather tightly, as though he was afraid to release his grip on it for even a second, His other hand, it was clenching and unclenching and now, only now, did Ginny see the sweat appearing at his forehead, running down the side of his face. His jaw was locked, tight.

Harry, what are you doing with my wand?' Ginny asked, taking a step foreword, closer to Harry. In the background, the storm made his presence known by crackling and thumping against the windows and house. It shone brightly into the room, illuminating it so Ginny could see Harry properly for the first time. She gasped.

His face was filled to the brim with anger, his eyes narrowed, he stared at her, almost as if wishing her dead on the spot. Instinctively she stepped back, and in a quavering voice demanded once again, Harry, what are you doing with my wand?' 

Harry didn't answer, he only watched her, his eyes becoming slits, his mouth- if possible- becoming more of a frown.

Give it here, Harry,' Ginny said, sticking out her hand. But instead of handing her the wand, he raised his right arm, the one holding her wand. As he did so, the robes on his arms slipped back, down to his elbow. Harry?' Ginny asked, voice no longer serious, but quite full of fear. What's that on your arm?'

She stared at it, not believing it. There it was, a vivid red tattoo, a snake protuding out of a mouth of a skull. Voldemort's sign. The Dark Mark.. 

Harry?' she asked again. 

I'm sorry, Ginny,' he said, once again raising the wand. I have to for my master,' he choked a bit on the last part, and Ginny could see what were almost-tears in his eyes. 

Ginny couldn't take it in. She backed up until she hit the counter, grabbing hold of it to steady herself. She felt her knees give way, she fell to the floor, landing on her hands. Her red-gold hair covering her face. She breathed in the scent of pine cleaner, her face that close to the floor. She felt sick.

__

No, not Harry she kept repeating in her mind. _He would never do this to us to me. He wouldn't. He couldn't. Not Harry Potter._

Ginny, I'll always love you, you know that right?' Slowly, Ginny lifted her head, to stare at Harry's face. She felt tears coursing down her cheeks. Anger and hatred buzzed inside of her, directed at Lord Voldemort, for doing this to her husband.

I'm sorry too, Harry,' she said. She closed her eyes for a moment, before jumping at Harry's feet, tackling him. They both fell to the ground. Harry, surprised at her actions, didn't react until she was sitting on top of him, her wand now in her possession. 

He tried to move, to get out, but she knew that and was ready for a fight. He finally calmed down, accepting that he wasn't going any where anytime soon. He stared into her eyes, then his eyes traveled to her hands. Their ring was still on, looking as bright as it had ever been.

You still kept it? Even after all these years?' he asked, his voice now not so full of the hatred Ginny always knew he possessed toward Lord Voldemort. He almost choked. Ginny sighed.

Harry, I love you,' she said, staring into his eyes, still so full of his passionate anger. I'm sorry. _Stupefly.' _Harry's eyes closed, and his head leaned back onto the floor. He almost looked peaceful had those years of anger, sadness, pain not carved itself into his once beautiful face. Ginny sighed again, and got up. 

She walked slowly over to the fireplace, she'd better report this to the Auror district. She looked back at the unmoving figure on her kitchen floor, and let herself cry. 

It all came down to one man. One man alone had turned Harry's hate for him right around onto everyone he had once loved.

One man.

Voldemort.

Flight of Death

And the storm outside continued to play it's fiddle.

~End.


	2. In the Hands Of Another

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In a Storm

By: FireSprite

A/N: Hello wonderful readers.. I just want you to know that In a storm' was supposed to be a one time only thing, but as Milkyweed pointed out When are you going to finish it?' I did realize there was still so much left for me to write. Therefore I decided to make it a two-parter kind of fic. I hope you enjoy!

Oh yes, and BoyFlea, you were right in your guess as to why I called it In a storm' There were two reasons, one: Everything is happening during a storm (no really?) and two: Ginny and Harry are thrown into a storm' of emotions. Hence, In A Storm'

Enough of my babbling, read and please review as I like getting email!

Disclaimer: Um, nope don't own em.

In a Storm: In The Hands Of Another

Ginny's eyes itched with tiredness. They were red, blotchy, signs that this _joy ride_ was taking it's physical and emotional toll on her. All she wanted to do was head home and climb into bed, hiding under the blue duvet forever. Sleep her sorrows away.

But no, she was destined to stay here, waiting for one of the officering Aurors to return from taking care of Harry.

Ginny cast a glance around the dimly lit Auror office. _What a depressing place_, she thought. Desks cluttered the basement of the ministry building. On almost every one stacks of paper teetered dangerously, threatening any passing individual with it's vengeance. Coffee cups were everywhere. Desks, chairs, window sills, they stood there, watching with hooded eyes as the workers went about their business, filing, writing up reports, leaving for missions. The faint light provided by the out doors was the occasional flash, entering through the small windows high up on the wall. The only view you could see from them were the infrequent shoes running by, splashing the glass with murky rain water. The place was dank, the malodor hanging heavily in the air, making it difficult to breathe.

Ginny sighed and leaned forward. She laid her head in her arms on the desk in front of her, burying her head deep within the folds of her robes and closing her eyes. She blocked out the sounds of hurrying footsteps, chairs shrieking at the process of being moved and the constant scratching of quills against yellowed parchment.

Ginny tried to quell the sickening sensation turning over and over in her stomach, tried to stop the images from running past her closed eyes.

Ten years Ten long years she had waited for Harry. And now that he had finally returned? She was stuck in some gloomy basement while they took him away, never to return.

Mrs. Potter?' came a young voice She snapped her head up, turning around to the speaker, Brian Roberston, the Auror who was handling everything for her.

He was new, you could tell by the way he nervously shifted his feet, adjusted his tie. The way his black eyes pleaded with her, asking for an easy process. He fumbled with the clipboard in his clammy hand, almost dropping it onto the dirty floor.

Yes?' she asked, her voice listless and exasperated. What more could they possibly want from her?

W-would you like to see you husband? –before we take him away that is,' he chuckled nervously, before diverting his eyes.

__

See my husband? Ginny was taken aback. Did she want to? Could she? _Should_ she?

She was aware of how the room had quieted. People were staring at her, almost waiting with baited breath for her answer. Would brave courageous Ginny Potter dare see her traitorous, lying bastard of a husband? After a moments hesitation she nodded, and stood up. The room breathed again, with life. Sounds once over resumed. 

Stomach twisting in knots, she followed Brian.

~*~*~

Harry surveyed his chamber with cold eyes. Stone after stone, placed one on top of another. They too watched him, debating in small whispers whether to pay much attention to him. Finally they became silent, deciding he was a waste_. Just another dead human,_ they said. _No use to us._

Harry gave a small bitter smile. Oh, if they could only see The Famous Harry Potter' now. Chained up, looking barren. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the hard wall. His ink-black hair fell over his face and he would have brushed it away had the metal chains not be biting into his flesh.

His head, however snapped up when he heard motion outside his prison, in the long hallway. The sounds of footsteps echoed off the lonely walls and into his room, the sounds of swishing robed, following closely.

Here y'are Ma'am,' came a voice, obviously one owner for the several pairs of footsteps heard. Now don't you fret. We got him chained up pretty tight and course we checked him for a wand before hauling him in there' 

__

This must be the guard, Harry concluded, giving an immaculate laugh. It reverberated off the walls and the people outside stilled a moment.

All right Mrs. Potter, twenty minutes only,' came a much younger and scared voice. Harry stopped tugging at his chains for a second. _Ginny was here? But why?_

The door opened with a loud groan, then firmly shut, a bolt sliding into place, locking the two occupants in.

Harry looked up at his wife, his mouth frowning, eyes becoming small. There _she _was; his petite woman, standing there awkwardly, as if she didn't quite know why she was here. She looked the same she had hours ago, tired, angry, sad, the identical robes still clinging to her shivering body. _She's probably soaked to the bone_ Harry thought. She made no move, she just stood there watching him, pity in her eyes. 

I don't bite, you know that,' he spoke gruffly, after moments of silence. He didn't want anyone pitying him, especially her. She licked her, lips then replied

You did once' And in spite of her obvious self-constraint, she gave a modest smile. She walked over the dusty floor, and kneeled down in front of him.

Putting her arm on his leg, her brown eyes fixed on the tattoo his master had given him. Her eyes faltered, widened, then narrowed. The pain was obvious, he could see it there.

After many moments of silence, she spoke, her voice; hard, bitter, trying desperately not to allow him to know that she was hurting inside.

Why?' she asked, quietly, although he could hear every emotion she was going through right now. He had always been able to read her like an open book. It almost pained him. Almost. Why did you do it Harry? Was it something I did?'

Harry stared at her, his face motionless, wearing a well crafted mask- one designed for such times. He watched in grim satisfaction as tears began to leak out of the corner of her eyes. They showered her face, like water coming over a waterfall; so pure, so innocent. 

Ginny made no move to push them away, why should she? It made no difference who saw her crying. It didn't make her stronger, ten years of waiting for her husband to come home made her strong. Facing bleak mornings day after day made her strong. Bringing her husband in when he _finally_ returned made her strong.

Crying did not. It didn't make her weak, worthless, it made her human. Something she was; nothing could ever take that away. Not even evil.

It wasn't you,' came Harry's voice, suprising even himself. Ginny looked at him, wonder written everywhere over her tear soaked face. I waited six years six long years before I gave up hope,' Harry said, continuing with a shuddering breath. It was time.' Slowly he looked out the window, the one showing rain splattering the plastic pane. The sky's tears hit it, braking into millions of droplets, sliding slowly down the window, landing on the stone, seeping into the walls, to rest there until the would sun came out, taking them away from their new home. Robbing them of themselves. 

Six years in the face of pain, death, horror. I gave up I remember the night so clearly.' He looked up at the ceiling now, as if the roof just opened up unto the heavens and the stars where there for his eyes only. 

I was sitting in my cell, looking out the small window. I sat there, watching the stars making their rotation thinking, "It's been six years, and still no word of them. Nothing. Have they forgotten me? Not Ginny. She wouldn't." 

It seemed as though you had, Ginny. Had you forgotten me? I doesn't matter now,' Harry paused for a moment, deciding whether to continue, I told him I told him I was tired of fighting. I was tired, I wanted out of my cell, to go home. He shook his head and laughed.

"So Harry Potter is tired," he told me, "Are you tired of the fighting? Of the pain everyday, watching you yourself go down with every other hostage? I can relieve you of that painh Harryh" he said, his eyes lighting up, "just give me your loyalty: you shall be saved"

So I did. I was exhausted of holding out for your face, Ginny. Don't you see? He broke my spirit, and in the process he broke me.' Harry looked at her now, then continued.

I can almost taste the night I signed my soul over, Ginny. I kept torturing myself, watching you in my mind. All those year we grew up together, our marriage, finding out you were pregnant days before I left,' at this he stopped right in the middle of his thought. Gin- was it a boy or girl?' he asked, sounding humanly sincere.

Ginny looked away for a moment before turning back. Neither,' she replied flatly. When you left' she swallowed, I had an accident we -we lost our child,' Ginny face crumpled and she bowed her head, not daring to look at Harry. Had she looked, she would have seen the rawest emotion of pain Harry had showed in over a decade.

It was for one simple reason Harry felt his heart break a million times over. However much hope he had lost all those years ago, he still had hope that his child–his very first child, would grow up in a happy home, one full of love. He hoped that if the child would ever ask, "Where's Daddy, Mommy?" and his wife, not knowing the wiser, would reply, "he's up in heaven darling, and he loves you very much. He wishes he were here, because he's a good man. Always remember that. Your father was a kind and gentle spirit."

That's why it had been so hard for Harry to come back that night, afraid he would find his child and his wife. Afraid that perhaps his son or daughter would find out the truth, that he was an evil man now, entirely changed.

Chains tinkled as Harry moved, stretching his arm to wrap Ginny with them. He pulled her close, allowing her to cry. And he too cried. Over his dead child. Over the fact that he could never return, live with his wife, start anew. That he would most likely be an empty shell by morning. He shushed his wife, telling her he was sorry and that he loved her over and over again.

Harry?' she quietly asked, after a few intense minutes.

Yes?' he asked, actual concern in his voice. He was tired of his whole charade. He tried to remember how he used to act before he was kidnapped, was he sweet? Kind? Gentle? 

He didn't remember, all those years of hate, bitterness, anger had wiped his memories away. He felt pained for that. He could never be the man Ginny had fallen in love with. Never.

I love you,' she whispered. I'm sorry it had to end this way.' Placing a hand on his chest, she looked up at him, her eyes searching his for reassurance.

I am too,' he replied, looking down at her, his lips drawing into a thin line. Ginny looked at him, then lifted her head, placing her lips on his.

They were cold. But they were heaven to Harry. He felt an old spark ignite inside of him. He remember days like these, on the beaches, at the house, on their bed. Except then her lips were warm, hot with passion. 

He kissed back, dangerously seeking the old days. It was too late though, too late for anything.

Mrs. Potter?' came a voice from the door, your time is up.'

Ginny drew back and looked at Harry. She didn't want him to be hauled away now. She wanted him to stay with her. Tears coursed down her cheeks and trembled on her lips. They shivered and shook, before silently free falling to the ground, splashing upon hitting the dusty floor. They settled, falling asleep once again.

Harry,' Ginny whispered, no.' She laid her head on his chest. I want to stay with you. Come home with me Harry.'

Ginny,' Harry spoke. Go,'

No, Harry, I-'

Go, Ginny,' he said, flatly. His mask was back on. Guard!! Please take her,' he called out, I don't want to see her anymore.' 

The guard came in, a big burley man with a kind face. Keys jangled at his side, hitting his leg. He walked in slowly, his heavy feet taking all the time they wanted. When he reached Ginny, he lifted her up.

C'mon Ma'am. Time for you to go,' Ginny tried ripping her arms out of his hands, yet he had a hard grip.

Harry!' she called as he led her out of his cell.

It's for the best. Trust me,' he said, sadly, quietly. I love you.'

She didn't hear the last part, as the door closed firmly, and suddenly it was cold and quiet.

Harry died the next day, a Dementor taking great pleasure in sucking his soul. Everyone thought it was for the best, but those who had mourned Harry's death before, mourned again. No matter what side he was on, he was and would always be The great, good, wonderful Harry Potter."

Ginny. She never did love again, for she was too scared to ever trust her heart. Many say she lost her heart that night, in that storm. That storm had drained her of all life and spirit. A storm created by hate, anger, betrayal, love, passion.

Water is a powerful thing; it can keep you alive or kill you. Ginny and Harry found that out that night; the hard way.

Ginny and Harry.

Harry and Ginny.

Now just Ginny.

Ginny a lost girl in a storm

****

~End


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